


The Fractured Sky

by shadow_lover



Category: Dragon Age: Inquisition
Genre: Angst, First Kiss, Flirting, In Hushed Whispers, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-09-30
Updated: 2016-09-30
Packaged: 2018-08-18 16:23:43
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,477
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8168386
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/shadow_lover/pseuds/shadow_lover
Summary: The sky was falling and rift magic burned in his palm. All else was inconsequential.





	

**Author's Note:**

  * For [katling](https://archiveofourown.org/users/katling/gifts).



> Thank you for the lovely request! I was very excited to see you pop up as a pinch hit, and I hope the end result is to your taste :)
> 
> And thank you to phoxinus for beta-reading.

“I can order my soldiers not to stare so at you,” Cullen said. “Though I make no promises about the townsfolk.”

Lavellan glanced after the wide-eyed messenger scurrying away. “It’s not so bad most of the time. People only notice me when I’m talking to you or Josephine or Cassandra.” There was a reason he kept his gloves on. It was easier to avoid recognition when nobody saw the mark.

Cullen laughed. “Trust me, they notice you.”

Something about that laugh—and he thought it was unintentional—drew Lavellan’s attention. Cullen stood tall and golden under Haven’s wide blue sky. He wore his mantle and armor so easily; it was difficult to imagine him without it.

 _Well. Perhaps not all_ that _difficult._

Lavellan let the heat of that imagination curl into his words. “Do _you_ notice me, Commander?”

And—bleeding thorns—Cullen _blushed_.

*

On nights when sleep was impossible, Lavellan went out into the quiet darkness. The sentries did not stare overlong as he passed them. Once they identified him, they did not mind where he wandered.

Their discretion seemed too deliberate. _I can order my soldiers not to stare so at you._

A nice enough gesture. But all it took was one more miracle and they’d be staring again. Lavellan was unsure how he felt about being a hero, even if becoming such was the price he must pay to defeat his monster. 

His palm burned beneath his glove.

Out the gate, he turned along the westward path. It unwound past the trebuchets to the great stone bridge, which Cassandra called Penitents’ Crossing.

Lavellan was not penitent, and he never crossed the bridge. He walked only to the center of it, braced his hands against the rampart, and looked up into the sky. The view of the breach was clearer than from the heart of Haven. He could more clearly remember his lonely purpose.

The breach rippled in the sky above, its slow-pulsing brightness enough to outshine the moon. It always seemed larger at night. Through the gleaming clouds, Lavellan sometimes thought he saw movement on the other side.

*

Lavellan saw the future as a straight, wide road before him, lit bright by fractured sky. He did not know what he might find down that road, but he knew where he must go, even as the others around the table pretended there was still a choice.

“You’ll be in the most danger,” Cullen said. “We can’t order you to do this.” His voice, though it could carry across armies, was very soft. It was as if they were alone in the room.

Lavellan hoped he wasn’t flushing. He had to focus. Cullen was considerate, but he was only partly right. The advisors couldn’t order him into Redcliff Castle, but the sky was falling and rift magic burned in his palm. All else was inconsequential.

Lavellan said, “I’m not afraid,” and he _did_ flush at Cullen’s admiring grin.

*

The future was easy; the past, now, was tenuous. A cobweb-thin path to tread with clumsy feet and pounding heart. He had to get back. He knew the future, and it was not this.

It could not be.

 _This is not real,_ and yet when he shouldered open a door, his armor was stained with rust. _This is not real,_ and yet he bled.

He was glad of Dorian’s chatter. If he couldn’t hear the lyrium song, there was still a chance he might not go mad.

Lavellan could see a thousand futures. He could not unsee them, but he resolved to snuff them out from the darkness of time.

Leliana would not say what had become of Cullen.

*

Lavellan tumbled back to _now_ , and he could breathe again. The air was cold and sharp and clear in his lungs. His eyes were clear, and he was not adrift. His feet were steady on the ground.

He held that composure as Alexius fell to his knees. His fingers itched for his knives, but he kept them sheathed. Because Lavellan saw the road ahead again, and it did not stop at Redcliff Castle. There was a fog on the horizon. Perhaps the magister’s whispers would help clear it.

He was not alone in the hall. Dorian clapped him on the shoulder, and the soldiers gathered close, though they dared not touch him. He had now a second time emerged from a glowing portal and disaster—a second time appeared unscathed. The miracle shone in the soldiers’ eyes. They were incandescent in their awe.

Lavellan scanned the room for the faces he’d sought in the red, dark future. He saw too few; he would find the rest later. Now, he turned his attention to the prisoner and the mages and the queen. How marvelous and how exhausting it was to watch humans so attend his words.

*

Lavellan stared down at the map and traced the edges of the world as the advisers debated his decision.

Cullen’ s voice rose.

Lavellan knew he lacked authority to bring the mages in, yet he had done so. He had power not by design but by circumstance, and he was therefore compelled to use that power. He did not quite understand the fear thrumming through Cullen’s voice—there was something more than distrust of magic at play—but if Cullen had been there—

There had only been one path, and Lavellan had seized it. He would not be ashamed of that. He kept his chin high, though he could not meet the commander’s gaze.

*

He sat alone in his room and watched the lantern die. He did not know the hour; it was late, it had to be. It was not a time for wakefulness, and yet he would not sleep.

The room was spare but comfortable. Clean, soft cotton sheets, well-stuffed mattress on a sturdy frame. A threadbare rug warmed the rough floorboards. Lavellan was still unused to the distinction between shelter and cage. The walls were claustrophobic. How easy it was to slip into the wrong moment.

He would not sleep tonight, he knew suddenly. Then there was no reason to remain in this stone-walled cage, where the whole of time could pass by outside his door and he would hear none of it.

He staggered from bed and tugged on his boots and coat.

The ground was smooth with new snow, broken only by a single trail of footprints. It was not one of Leliana’s people, for they did not leave footprints.

At Penitents’ Crossing, he found Cullen leaning back against the rampart. His hand was at his sword, and his face tipped up towards the breach.

“Commander,” Lavellan said quietly.

When Cullen looked over, his eyes gleamed with rift-light. He looked younger than he did during the day. “One of the sentries said you come here sometimes.”

Lavellan shoved his hands into the pockets of his coat and leaned up next to him. The man gave off a tangible warmth, even through the feathers and steel. They stood in silence, breath clouding in the cold air, and stared up at the hole in the sky that had brought them here, into the same place, at the same moment.

Cullen’s hand dropped from his sword hilt. “If I sounded harsh earlier, I apologize.”

“Please, don’t.” Lavellan preferred honesty to etiquette. “Your concern is fair—the mages are dangerous. It’s just…”

Cullen had turned to face him as he spoke, and he was so close and so tall, Lavellan’s thoughts scattered. All he could think of was the false light catching along the planes of Cullen’s face, and just how broad those shoulders really were beneath the pile of feathers.

“Yes?” Cullen prompted. His lips looked so _soft_.

“I believe they can seal the breach. That matters more than anything.”

Cullen exhaled. “Your certainty is...”

 _Terrifying,_ Lavellan thought, but what Cullen said was, “comforting.”

Slowly, Lavellan pulled the glove from his left hand. “I have this for a reason.” The mark glittered, green flame and shadows pulsing with his heartbeat. It was like holding a dying star. “This is what I am.”

Cullen took his hand in both of his, still gloved in soft leather. He folded Lavellan’s hand into a fist, so the light spilled out between curled fingers. “Yes,” he said. “But you’re more than that, too.” He let go of the marked fist.

Gloved fingertips ghosted over Lavellan’s cheek, gone before he could lean into the touch. Then warm, chapped lips on his. Cullen kissed slowly, carefully, like he was afraid of scaring him away. But when Lavellan groaned and pushed forward, winding his arms around feather-cloaked shoulders, opening eagerly under Cullen’s mouth—Cullen pulled away just enough for a hitching breath, and then fell into him again.

Lavellan’s heart thudded stronger than the pulsing in his palm. Just for tonight, he could close his eyes to the road ahead.


End file.
